


Bring Colour To My Skies

by screwstyles



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Confessions, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Silverstone 2020, Smut, like blink and you'll miss it light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26014954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwstyles/pseuds/screwstyles
Summary: After the 70th Anniversary Grand Prix and Max’s win, he realises there is no one else he wants to celebrate with other than Daniel.
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 5
Kudos: 139





	Bring Colour To My Skies

**Author's Note:**

> it’s a couple of firsts for me with this fic – it's my first fic in the F1 fandom, it’s the first where the title isn’t from a rap artist (unless troye sivan considers himself one), it's the first one that's anything under 10K, and most importantly it's my first fic away from my 'home' fandom. but here we are.
> 
> i felt like max’s win at silverstone needed a fic around it and this is the end result. i hope you enjoy!

The door in front of Max isn’t special in any way. It doesn’t stand out from the two dozen doors he passed on the way to this one, and the golden _629_ doesn’t shine any brighter than the other numbers he barely registered on his way. There’s nothing to indicate this as the room he’s looking for, but something inside him feel uneasy, nervous in a way he hasn’t felt since his first race in F1, when he wasn’t old enough to drink or drive a regular car. It puts him on edge, off-kilter and anxious, even, and he feels like the opposite of what he’s worked so hard to become over the short 22 years of his life. 

He’s never been much of a worrier, certainly wasn’t raised one, preferring to face the challenges head-on and think about the consequences later on. This isn’t his run-of-the-mill challenge, though – he can’t ask the mechanics to fix this, and he can’t make up the points in the next race, and he certainly can’t wipe the slate clean in a year’s time and start from scratch if this doesn’t go well. He nearly backs out, takes a step back and refrains from knocking, but when the door opens of its own accord, there’s not much of a choice to be made. 

Max can’t pinpoint a specific moment in the race when he realised he could win the Grand Prix. One second both Mercedes were ahead of him and he was chasing, and when he passed them the first time he was erring on the side of caution to avoid unnecessary disappointment. He didn’t think much of Lewis coming out ahead of him, and even when he stopped to pit a second time, there was no instant rush in him saying _that’s it, you’re_ _gonna_ _win this thing_. Even on the last lap the realisation came over him in waves, not a sudden burst but more a patient build-up until he saw the chequered flag. 

He can, however, pinpoint the moment he decided that out of all the people in the world, the one he wanted to share the victory with wasn’t there. That one came to him pretty quickly, actually – before the interviews, before the podium, as he was jumping into the proud arms of his engineering team, he couldn’t shake the feeling there was someone missing. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out. He had been feeling this for a year, but apparently a young brain can be dumb sometimes and take a while to make sense of the itch beneath his skin. Max didn’t want to skip the celebrations and run to Daniel, not really. It was more a slow burn, where he wanted Daniel to be waiting for him in the garage when he came off the podium instead of Alex’s sincere but underwhelming smile. 

So instead, he resorted to the worst possible thing imaginable – asking a smug Ocon for Daniel’s whereabouts. He actually had to talk himself into that and down two shots of vodka from his not-so-hidden-from-Christian-stash in the space of five minutes to even think about approaching him without cursing his entire existence. When he had actually started walking towards Esteban, Christian had looked like he would rather have a civil conversation with Cyril than witness this. Too bad. 

Max still isn’t sure how he managed to keep it together, but never let it be said he doesn’t go to extreme lengths for Daniel. 

In the end, he celebrated with his team and let Daniel get settled, maybe burn off some steam in the gym after his own admittedly disappointing race, and didn’t make his way to find him until late at night, the clock nearing midnight. 

Daniel looks at him like he’s just seen a ghost. Whatever the reason he was planning on leaving the hotel room, Max will never know, but it seems it’s no longer important as Daniel takes a shaky breath and steps back, silently letting Max in. He doesn’t look too pleased, or for that matter surprised, to see him, but Max doesn’t get stuck on that. There’s only so much nerve he has when it comes to personal matters, and if he doesn’t do something now, he never will. Either way, he takes comfort in being able to read Daniel so well when usually he masks his negative emotions, preferring to present the cheery version to the world. 

Daniel still looks at him unsurely as Max sits down on his bed without preamble. He notices a half-drunk cup of tea on the bedside table and a book peeking out from under one of the pillows. He smiles slightly, feeling a warmth inside himself at knowing Daniel’s routine after a poor race hasn’t changed too much since they were teammates. 

“You weren’t there,” Max starts in an accusatory tone, which – room for improvement. He wouldn’t blame Daniel for kicking him out right now, but instead he closes the door and leans against a wall, clearly wary of Max in a way he never was when they were at Red Bull together. It makes him feel something he isn’t comfortable feeling, so he distracts himself by focussing on Daniel. 

He looks tired, like maybe he was planning on going to sleep within the next thirty minutes or so, and his worn t-shirt and grey jogging shorts him make him look very cuddly. If Max was into that. Instead, he concentrates on the lines of the thigh tattoo he pays too much attention to to only be in a friendly way. 

“I wasn’t where?” Daniel asks, now amused, so used to dealing with a brash Max. 

“There,” Max grunts, willing Daniel to understand without actually saying the words. Daniel, the bastard, keeps smiling at him like he has no idea. 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, golden boy,” Daniel smirks at him, and any signs of sleepiness Max might have seen when he first burst into the room are now definitely gone and replaced by this ever-energetic, smug version of him. 

Max sighs in frustration, rubbing at his lower lip. There’s a chance he should have thought about what he was actually going to say when the time came, but he’s always been more of an on-the-spot type of a person. 

“I wanted you there,” he mutters, only to be met with raised eyebrows. 

“Believe it or not, I wanted to be on the podium, too. Life doesn’t always work out that way,” he shrugs, but years of having him as a teammate clue Max into the tension in his shoulders. Still, he plays it off casually. “Sadly for all of us, you can’t just want something for it to be reality.” 

Max groans – he really didn’t think it would be this hard. Daniel’s not thick, probably figured out why Max was here the moment he saw him, but he’s set on making Max work for it. Max welcomes a good challenge, but this is different. 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he glares at Daniel, the liquid courage turning into annoyance at himself for not getting the words out. 

“So you don’t want me to win?” Daniel gasps exaggeratedly, bringing a hand up to his chest in a dramatic gesture Max wouldn’t tolerate from anyone but him. 

“Wanker, you know I do. I’m your biggest fan, really,” he teases, even if the sentiment is truer than he lets on. 

“The great Max Verstappen is a fan of poor old me? Oh joy,” Daniel laughs, and if he was any closer, Max would punch him. 

In fact, he doesn’t know why they’re not, and that’s something that he _can_ fix pretty easily. He gets up from the bed, closing the distance between them, and as soon as physically possible, gently pushes his left wrist into Daniel’s bicep. 

“Listen to me, Daniel,” he says, and by some miracle Daniel reels himself in enough to the point his shoulders stop shaking. His shit-eating grin stays in place, but, well, small victories. “Imagine the car was being delivered to the garage today, and there was no one there to receive it, so it’s left outside where other teams can see it.” 

He doesn’t know where he’s going with this metaphor, but at least he’s speaking a language they both understand. 

“So it’s out there in the open, uncomfortable, when it knows it belongs in the garage. Get it?” he asks, and at some point his hands have come to clutch at Daniel’s shoulders in a way that might look threatening from an observer’s perspective. He can’t help it – Daniel makes him nervous and he’s on new ground, never having done this before. He’s doing his best, even if this confession is turning into a confrontation more than anything. 

“I don’t get it,” Daniel says, his face a mixture of genuine confusion and something like – hope? He wets his lips while Max gears up for his reply, and Max’s eyes trace the movement, intrigued. 

“You’re the mechanic that was supposed to sign-off,” he clarifies, looking Daniel straight in the eye. For a moment, his face doesn’t betray anything, remains stoic, until he bursts out into a laugh again. 

“You calling yourself a car, Max?” he asks, throwing his head back. If Max didn’t find it funny, he’d be offended at Daniel’s reaction, but they’ve not exactly ever had a normal human dynamic. 

Max smiles at him, powerless to not share Daniel’s joke. He wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Could take you for a ride,” he says, and the smirk he wishes to put on his face melts pretty quickly into what he dreads is transparent fondness. He sticks out his tongue in an effort to deflect from how exposed he feels, but he’s pretty sure Daniel can read him like an open book. 

Daniel bites his lip, so uncharacteristic to his always so self-assured, silent (and sometimes not so) confidence. 

“How stable is this car? Are we talking marathon here, or a good old Volvo that you can rely on?” He asks. 

Max wants to make fun of how marathon isn’t actually a car term, but luckily for once he keeps his first instinct to himself and thinks his words through. It says something about his intentions that he’s willing to hold his tongue. 

“We’re talking a car that won’t bolt at the first MOT,” Max assures him, squeezing Daniel’s shoulders gently, hoping he’s catching the message between his words. 

Daniel nods, and while he seems to contemplate something for a moment, it’s quickly replaced by an expression so open it nearly hurts Max a little. 

“I think the car would be very warmly welcomed,” he replies, and Max barely has time to breathe in before he surges forward, capturing Daniel’s lips with own. 

Daniel kisses like he talks – fast, with a lot of passion and like he’s unwittingly trying to get the upper hand. Max moans into his mouth when Daniel bites on his lower lip, and it feels so, so good to see how their dynamic translates into _this_ , how well they seem to match each other move for move. He pushes at Daniel’s chest until he relaxes against the wall, making their slight height difference more prominent, and feels his grip tighten on Daniel’s biceps. 

It suddenly becomes a priority to feel him closer, get him skin to skin, and so Max practically growls as he slides his hands down Daniel’s torso, landing at the hem of his shirt. 

“Off, Daniel,” he demands, and by the looks of it, Daniel is only too happy to comply. He wiggles out of it as best as he can in the limited space between Max’s chest and the wall, and the moment the shirt is off, Max can’t contain himself. 

Daniel has never been shy about his body, proudly showing off his lithely muscled torso, and now that Max can finally touch to his heart’s content, it’s like the floodgates have opened. He grabs at Daniel’s hip with one hand and steps forward, forcing Daniel to back into the wall again. His other hand wanders to his chest as he connects their lips again, fervently licking into Daniel’s mouth with the starvation accumulated over years. 

Daniel moans into his mouth, content to let Max take the lead, and take he does. He lightly scratches his nails up and down Daniel’s skin, trying to get even closer and carving a space for himself inside Daniel, like any distance between their bodies is too much to bear. 

He disconnects their mouths only enough to growl _stay here_ into Daniel’s ear, and then sinks to his knees in front of him. Looking up at Daniel from his angle is – well, it’s an experience to say the least. He’s flushed and quiet in a way he usually never gets, and his breathing has picked up with the anticipation of what’s to come. He obediently remains against the wall, but his eyes follow Max’s, and don’t leave his face as Max slowly slides his shorts and briefs down. 

He nearly regrets having to break their eye contact, but Daniel’s hard dick is like, right there, and he can’t help himself when his gaze slides down and to the erection in front of him. He takes it as a complement that Daniel is nearly fully hard from some snogging, and wastes no time getting his hands on him to coax him to full hardness. 

While he does so, he takes a moment to take in the tattoo on Daniel’s thigh tattoo. If possible, it’s even hotter in its entirety, reaching the crease where his thigh meets his crotch, and another time Max plans to spend hours mapping out the precise coordinates, memorising the lines and the taste across each inch of tattooed skin. For now, though, he has other matters to attend to. 

He isn’t in a mood to tease, every day since they first met practically adding to the tension between them, and so he thinks it’s justified when he starts with a broad lick from Daniel’s base to the tip, eliciting a most beautiful moan from the man above him. He quickly takes the tip into his mouth, sucking at the silky head and revelling in finally being able to do this. 

Daniel’s hips fuck up into his mouth a bit, most likely in an unvoluntary motion, but Max still slaps him on his thigh in warning, knowing the message will be received: _stay put._

He starts moving his mouth up and down, focusing on getting as much of Daniel’s cock into his mouth as he tries to ignore the painful erection in his own shorts. He hasn’t waited this long to get lost in his own pleasure, and so he focuses on keeping his teeth tucked behind his lips. The problem is, Daniel is big, and he can soon start feeling the pleasant ache in his jaw, pushing through it to let the tip start hitting his throat as he works past his gag reflex. He chances a look up, meets Daniel’s eyes again – he looks spaced out, and his hand is flexing like he wants to push it into Max’s hair but isn’t sure if that’s allowed. 

Max is pretty impressed by that, and he moves the hand that isn’t wrapped around the base of Daniel’s cock up to tangle their fingers together. It’s more than what he would usually do, but something with Daniel feels different, like the sexual contact alone isn’t enough, and he’s pleased when Daniel gets the hint. 

He pulls off for a moment to press a kiss to the head and then runs his tongue alongside the vein underneath, swirling his tongue around the crown as Daniel starts muttering something above him. It takes him only a moment to realise he’s chanting Max’s name, eyes still trained on his face, and as he bites his lip, Max knows he’s close with no verbal warning. 

He pulls off, but keeps his hand stroking the length, quickening the pace and slightly twisting at the tip like he likes it himself. 

“Fuck, Max, not gonna last,” Daniel pants out, his fingers tightening their grip on Max’s hand, pressing white indents into the skin. 

Max smiles up at him encouragingly. 

“Come for me, whenever you want. Come on my face,” he tells him, and Daniel does, a couple of strokes later, shuddering against the wall and shooting onto Max’s cheek and mouth. Max gets him through it, keeps his hand in motion until Daniel pulls away, oversensitive and spent. He beckons him up, though, and Max scrambles from his knees. 

He isn’t sure what Daniel’s stance on kissing after blowjobs is, especially with come dripping from Max’s lips as it is, but as he is pulled into a heated snog, he guesses it’s in favour of. Daniel must be able to taste himself on Max’s tongue, and that thought more than anything else reminds him of the painful hard-on Max is still sporting. 

He barely has the thought when Daniel starts reaching into his shorts and slips a hand in, easily finding Max’s straining dick. His hand is rough and provides the perfect amount of friction, and Max melts into Daniel, breathing into his mouth more than kissing him back. He digs his fingers into Daniels shoulders, bucks his hips into the touch, and with another four strokes of Daniel’s hand he comes, shuddering through his orgasm. 

Max slumps into Daniel again, boneless and sated, and smiles into his neck. He must be a mess, with drying come on his face as well as in his pants, but when Daniel gently presses on his chest to take a look at him, none of that really matters. Instead, what matters is the smile they share, how Daniel places a hand on Max’s clean cheek and pulls him in, kisses him so sweetly it makes his heart ache. 

“Still committed to the purchase after your test drive?” Daniel teases, continuing on with their ridiculous metaphor from before, and Max can’t help but laugh at his words. He’s pretty sure Daniel wouldn’t have agreed to this if he hadn’t known Max was serious about them, is asking to hear it out loud again, but Max is only too happy to oblige. 

“Very much so,” he answers, even surprising himself with the earnestness in his voice. “Gonna get all the add-ons, be the best driver my car could have. Take such good care of it.” 

“All the add-ons?” Daniel asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

“All the add-ons,” Max confirms, snorting. 

Daniel hums contently, and presses another kiss to Max’s lips, this one even sweeter than before.

“Well then, the car has never been happier to be off the market.” 

And they might look ridiculous, in an odd balance of fully dressed and completely naked, with sweat and come uncomfortably drying on their bodies, communicating their feelings indirectly and using shitty car metaphors, but Max can’t help but think that this is the only place he wants to be after his win. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! you can find me at screwstyles on tumblr


End file.
